


The Line of Lucis

by BreakfastTea



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Crepera is my new favourite, Fluff, Gen, Noctis meets the family, Somnus isn't the best, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 16:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18525553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreakfastTea/pseuds/BreakfastTea
Summary: Noctis awakens in the night to a voice calling out to him. It leads him to the Citadel's throne room where dead kings and queens wait.





	The Line of Lucis

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Fanfic Friday #5! This is for the anon who asked for a story featuring Noct meeting his ancestors. I really hope you like it!

The voice called through his dreams, waking him up. Noctis sat up in bed, expecting to see Dad or maybe Ignis next to his bed. But he was alone, moonlight pouring through the window. He yawned, stretching carefully. He wasn’t ready to be awake yet. Eyes closing, Noctis slumped against his pillows.  
  
The voice called again. He couldn't explain its words, only that he knew he had to go somewhere...  
  
An image flickered through his mind. The throne room. Fine. Noctis opened his eyes. If he had to go, he would. Slowly, though. He legs still wobbled a lot.  
  
Easing himself out of bed, Noctis carefully walked out of his room. He kept one hand on the wall, just in case his knee gave out. It was better, but not perfect yet. He moved quietly, knowing the guards would stop him if they found him. And yet tonight, no one seemed to be around. Strange.  
  
The voice without words pulled him on. The elevator took him to the right floor. And when he reached the throne room’s antechamber, he saw a figure made of blue light standing ahead of him. The man stood ahead of a portrait created to celebrate an ancestor’s coronation. Noctis thought he was supposed to be afraid of ghosts, like all the stories said, except there was something familiar about the figure. And when he turned around, his words reached Noctis properly.  
  
"My grandson. How I've longed to meet you."  
  
Noctis knew where he'd seen the old man. This was King Mors, his grandfather. Not sure what to say, Noctis stayed quiet.  
  
The ghost came closer, robes of crystalline light sweeping the floor. He crouched down in front of Noctis, his hand coming up to rest upon Noctis' head. He wasn't cold. Not really. More like what it felt like to touch the Crystal; kinda tingly. Noctis shivered, power washing through him. Had he accidentally done something to make his grandfather appear?  
  
"Come now, have you nothing to say?" asked the ghost.  
  
Noctis looked up. He really didn't know what to say. The books he read always had people running away screaming from ghosts. Noctis didn’t feel much like screaming or running. And good manners meant he had to say something. "Hello. It's nice to meet you, Grandfather Mors."  
  
It was hard to tell, but Noctis thought the old ghost smiled. "There! He has a voice. Thank goodness for that. No future king can be silent."  
  
Noctis felt his legs shaking more and more. Standing up for this long was still too hard. He carefully lowered himself to the ground. "Why can I see you?"  
  
"When one touches death as you have, it becomes far easier to perceive the dead remaining around you. Remember, child, the line of Lucis goes with you, wherever you may go. Even into death."  
  
"Oh." Noctis guessed that made sense... Dad tried to act like he hadn't almost died, but Noctis knew the truth deep down. He remembered sinking into darkness, not knowing if he’d ever wake up and already too tired to care. And when he’d woken up, hurting and… and… and _different_ , he just knew he wouldn’t be going back to the way he’d been before. Like he knew how day followed night; this was who he was now. Just… different. Because death was always there, walking alongside him, waiting for its next chance to take him, or anyone else he loved.  
  
"Many of our ancestors are keen to speak with you," Grandfather went on. "I am here first so that I can prepare you. You have no need to be frightened, child. After all, you are the Chosen King."  
  
Chosen King. Noctis said nothing. He didn’t even know what it meant. Not really. Because when Luna told him all about it, it sounded so easy. Bring back the light. Okay, he could try his best… That’s how he’d felt until the Empire attacked Tenebrae. Now he just felt useless.  
  
What kind of Chosen King struggled to walk?  
  
"Come, Noctis. There must be something you wish to ask me."  
  
Noctis looked up at the shimmering figure. "Anything?"  
  
His grandfather nodded. He seemed sad, like the doctors did when they told Noctis no, his back and leg would probably never be like they were before. That was it; Grandfather Mors looked like he had bad news to share.

Noctis didn’t really need more bad news.

He decided to ask about something else. "What was Dad like when he was young?"  
  
The dead king's laughter surprised Noct so much he almost jolted out of his skin. "Oh, let me tell you some stories about your father," Grandfather Mors said. "Because he was once as young as you, and quite the ruffian!"  
  
Noctis listened to the tales of his father's youthful antics, laughing in delight. Dad really sounded like a troublemaker. Noctis definitely wanted to know more about the _Naked Incident._

“Don’t you ever let your father tell you he was a perfect child, because he certainly kept all of us on our toes over the years. He was a terror in his teenage years. Let me tell you…”

Noctis drifted off to tales of his father’s teenaged antics.

* * *

  
Regis had taken to checking in on Noctis first thing every day. His son never awoke, being a naturally heavy sleeper. It gave Regis some peace of mind knowing his son slept well despite recent hardships.  
  
Entering Noctis' room, Regis looked to the bed.  
  
The empty bed.  
  
"Noct? Are you here?"  
  
No response. Not even a giggle from a child playing hide and seek. Alarm shot across Regis’ heart, nerves sending nausea spiralling through his gut. Where was his son? Regis checked the bathroom. Nothing. He checked the small parlour attached to the bedroom. Empty. Panic setting in, Regis dashed out of the room. He drew breath to call to the guards when his phone rang in his pocket. Grabbing it, he saw Clarus' name onscreen.  
  
"Regis, could you tell me why the Crownsguard found your son asleep outside the throne room?"  
  
Regis grabbed a wall to keep from collapsing in relief. "You found him."  
  
"Indeed. Perhaps he managed to sleepwalk this whole way." Clarus chuckled. "I wouldn't put it past young Noctis to do such a thing."  
  
Striding to the nearest elevator, Regis couldn't help smiling. Although had anyone been nearby, they would’ve noticed the barely restrained tears shimmering in his eyes. "He certainly knows how to keep us on our toes."

"Hmph, like father like son," Clarus said, although his tone was gentle rather than teasing. "I've taken him into your office. I'm sure he'd rather wake up to see you."

"I'll be there soon." Regis ended the call.

A few minutes later, he stood in his office, looking at the sight of his son curled up beneath a blanket, sleeping peacefully. Regis captured a quick photo, then set about the laborious task of waking Noctis up.

Eventually, Regis had to resort to bribery. "If you wake up now, I'll have the chef prepare pancakes for breakfast."

Noctis' eyes cracked open. "Dad?"

"Ah, there he is," Regis said. He ruffled Noctis' hair. "Good morning."

"Morning," Noctis said. He yawned and stirred. Regis winced when Noctis flinched, pained by the movement. Not that he complained. Instead, Noctis looked around, frowning at his surroundings. "How'd I get here? I was..."

"In bed?" Regis asked. "No, it seems you went for a nocturnal wander."

Noctis waved a hand. "I know," he said, so blunt Regis had a flash of his son several years older, cutting through someone else’s nonsense. Regis didn’t know if he should be proud of Noctis’ ability to get to the point, or worried for anyone who might get in his way later in life. "I spoke to your dad. Grandfather Mors." Noctis grinned. "He told me I should ask you about _The Naked Incident._ "

Words, even thought, escaped Regis for a few moments, such was his shock. He'd never, ever, told Noctis about those events. A few people knew, certainly, but none of them would've shared such a story with his son. Not if they valued their lives, _Clarus._ But no, surely he wouldn’t…

"Grandfather Mors seemed sad though," Noctis said, settling himself against the chair.

Regis sat back. He didn't know how to respond. How could he? Noctis had spoken to the dead. And if he’d spoke to Regis’ father, did that mean he’d be able to communicate with all of the Lucii? Regis rested a finger atop the Ring. There were some among their ancestors he wouldn’t want Noctis speaking with. Not yet. Not until he had no other choice.

Noctis frowned. "Sorry, Dad. I should've woken you up so you could see your dad, but my leg hurt and I guess I fell asleep." He looked down. "Sorry."

“Don’t be sorry,” Regis said, the words mechanical. Too much of his mind was taken up by the idea of his own father seeking out Noctis in the middle of the night. If their ancestors wished to speak with Noctis, Regis wasn’t sure he could stop it. Although he needed to know why they’d suddenly chosen to make themselves heard.

“Dad?” Noctis asked. “Are you okay?”

Regis blinked. It took a great deal of effort to drag himself into the present moment. “Sounds like he had a few tales to tell you.”

Noctis’ smile returned. “You can’t tell me off if I ever get in a fight. He said you punched someone because they said bad things about Grandfather.”

Laughing, Regis shook his head. Had his father kept anything quiet? “How about you promise to never punch anyone and I’ll see about those pancakes?”

“Okay! And then will you tell me more about the time you ran around the Citadel na – ”

“Noctis, for as long as I live, I will never tell you about that particular incident.”

“Aw, no fair!”

* * *

A few nights later, voices called to Noctis again. He went to the throne room’s antechamber, limping from a rough day of physiotherapy. He hoped Grandfather Mors wouldn’t mind if he sat down for the entirety of tonight’s conversation.

Except tonight, Grandfather Mors wasn’t the person who greeted him. Instead, Noctis saw a woman with closely cropped hair staring at him. Noctis shivered. He recognised her. Crepera, the Rogue. He’d always liked the sound of her, ruling from the shadows, striking down anyone who dared to cross her, but now? She didn’t look so friendly. She watched him so closely, Noctis dared not look away. She might move. Might grab him. Might do anything. And no matter how much his back and knee hurt, he knew better than to sit down in this woman’s presence. He stood straight.

“The Chosen,” she said. Her voice sounded melodic and soft, but her eyes were cold. “I expected you to be somewhat taller.”

Noctis didn’t know what to say.

“Come, boy,” she said. “Surely you have a voice.”

“Y-yes,” Noctis said. He swallowed his nerves and remembered his manners. He bowed as best he could. “It is an honour to meet you, Your Majesty.”

“Should you live up to expectations, I expect the honour will be mine, little one,” she said. She looked him up and down. “However, you have a very long way to go, child. Your injuries have robbed you of much strength. This will make things harder for you.”

Noctis said nothing. He willed the pain away.

“I have watched you,” she said. “Heard your silences. You are clever to keep things quiet. A ruler need not always stand in the light and share everything. Sometimes, it is the shadows you must hold onto, and silence you must keep to protect those you wish to keep safe.”

Noctis nodded. He knew that. Sometimes, when he had a bad day, he could see the worry in Dad and Ignis’ faces. He hated it. So he kept his mouth shut and said nothing. Or he pretended everything was alright, because that erased the worry. “It’s better sometimes,” he said. “When they think everything’s okay.”

The Rogue nodded, pride in her eyes. “Do not allow others to tell you you’re not capable,” she said. “Many will. Many will judge you. Ignore them.” She pressed a finger made of crystalline blue light to Noctis’ chest. “Believe in yourself. Even when you think you’re not worthy, know that you are.”

Noctis looked up at her. Maybe she could read minds. How did she know so much?

Her glowing hand reached up to his head. “One day, I will return to test you. You will be much older than you are now, and I feel certain you will be ready no matter what happens between now and then.”

Something flashed across Noctis’ mind, an image there and gone so fast he could only remember it for a few moments.

A man. Like Dad, but younger. And with a lot more hair. Staring up at the throne where someone else stood, someone who radiated darkness.

And then the image was gone, fading away until Noctis thought maybe he’d never seen anything.

Crepera stood over him, her hand still on his head. “Sleep,” she said. “Rest. Build your strength until you are ready to face me.”

Sleep crept over him. Sinking to the ground, Noctis drifted into dreams.

* * *

Regis awoke in the middle of the night with a certainty; Noctis wasn’t in his bed. Standing, pulling a robe lest he cause a controversy by being seen running through the Citadel’s corridors in pyjamas, Regis hurried to the antechamber. He found his son sleeping peacefully, resting on his good side beneath the Rogue’s portrait. Bending down, ignoring his own aches and pains, Regis slipped his arms beneath Noctis and lifted him. He returned Noctis to his own bed, brushing strains of hair from his forehead. Noctis stirred but didn’t awake, a smile racing across his lips.

Leaning over, Regis pressed a kiss to Noctis’ forehead. “I suppose I’ll have to hear more tales of my own youthful exploits in the morning,” he said.

Except when the morning came and Noctis awoke, he told his father of the Rogue.

“I liked her,” Noctis said.

“Why?” Regis asked.

Noctis shrugged.

And that was when Regis began to worry.

* * *

Regis found Noctis underneath various portraits several more times over the ensuing months. Most times, he awoke in the middle of the night to retrieve Noctis. Once or twice, someone else found Noctis the following day. And Noctis always shared tales of wonder from their ancestors. Regis listened, fascinated that the Lucii seemed so taken with his son. And so far, none of them had done anything to scare Noctis. Regis supposed they’d all been parents themselves, but they came from a different age… He wondered how they felt, knowing what he knew of Noctis’ fate. And yet something niggled at Regis, something he couldn’t ignore.

So, when he found a few spare minutes in his day, when Noctis was busy with Ignis, and Clarus could keep the council busy, Regis entered the Crystal’s chamber. He pressed a hand to its glimmering surface.

“Why?” he asked. “Why do they speak with him now? He’s a child.”

A deep voice resonated deep in Regis’ soul. _Because death nearly claimed him, bringing him closer to those who went before, who guarded the Crystal and the Ring so that he may one day fulfil the prophecy._

“There are some I would not wish to inflict upon a child,” Regis said.

_You have no control over this. Eventually, they will leave him be until the time he is needed._

“I can find a way to keep him from the antechamber,” Regis said.

_He need not go. The dead care little for doors and walls. You will not stop them from finding him. You are charged with preparing him, not protecting him._

“But he is a child!”

_And childhood passes so quickly. Do not interfere with this. It is not your place._

Regis dropped his hand to his side. Bahamut’s voice faded. Turning away, he retreated from the chamber, knowing Noctis’ encounters could only get worse.

* * *

A command kicked Noctis out of sleep. Heart pounding, adrenaline pumping, he lurched upright, his back screaming in protest. A figure stood at the end of his bed, clad in armour. Noctis stared at him, knowing someone watched him from behind the helmet.

And Noctis knew that armour. How could he not? Everyone knew of this man.

The Founder King.

The first King of Lucis turned away, making a sound of disgust. “Pathetic,” he said. “That it should all fall to one already broken.” He stalked away, marching in silence. “Come, boy. I have little patience for the likes of you. We need a warrior to fight, not whatever you’ll become.”

Heart aching, tears washing over his eyes, Noctis did what he was told. Sliding out of bed, he limped after the figure. It disappeared in the hallway, but Noctis knew where he’d find his ancestor. And a few minutes later, he emerged in the antechamber.

Except The Founder King wasn’t there.

Noctis knew he’d find the dead king in the throne room. Pushing his way through the doors, he looked up and saw the glimmering blue figure lounging across the throne, staring down at him from on high.

“How things wither when life is too simple,” The Founder King said. “You are meant to usher in an age of peace, but how will you do that when you know nothing of true war? You know nothing of suffering or death.”

“Yes, I do!” Noctis protested, thinking of the daemon attack, Niflheim’s assault on Tenebrae, of all those who’d died.

A nasty laugh rang out across the chamber. “You dare speak back to me?” The Founder King – Somnus Lucis Caelum – stood, his hand outstretched. “I will show you death.”

The throne room disappeared. In its place, burning fields spread out around him. The air choked with the stench of cooked flesh. Noctis’ ears filled with endless screaming. He tried to block it all out, but he couldn’t move. He could see people in the fire, people who were on _fire._

Ahead of him stood a figure, framed in flame, robes dancing in the heat. Noctis stared at him. He knew from history lessons that Somnus had fought alongside the Astrals to stop unimaginable tides of daemons from destroying the world.

“This is death,” Somnus said, voice booming over the screams. “This is suffering. Our family is tasked to end the Scourge, to end suffering. It will fall to you, boy, to save every Lucian. Tell me where one as weak as you will find such strength.”

Noctis didn’t know. He struggled to spend a whole day walking. How could he stop anything like this? How could he stop people burning alive? Their screams rang through his head. What if someone hurt Dad, and Ignis, and everyone else like this? Noctis wouldn’t be able to stop them.

The burning fields disappeared, the cool, silent calm of the throne room replacing it. Noctis found himself on his knees, staring up at the throne, tears streaming down his face. He tried to catch his breath, but instead he threw up. Body trembling, he didn’t even care about how much trouble he’d get in for making such a mess.

“You know so little of anything, you shouldn’t have the right to stand in my presence. And it is to you we entrust so much? I expected better.”

The doors behind them slammed open. Looking over his shoulder, Noctis saw his father striding towards them, a look of thunderous rage on his face. “Leave, now!” Regis shouted. “And inform the others they are done with my son. He is not to be toyed with.”

“Toyed with? Hardly. The child needs to grow a backbone.” Somnus stood, swaggering down the stairs. “Or, perhaps, he needs a father who won’t hide truths from him, no matter how bitter.” He pointed an armoured finger at Regis. “You cannot shield him forever, and your attempts to do so now only weaken him further. Prepare him, or our people will suffer endlessly.”

“Begone!” Regis roared. Noctis flinched. He’d never heard his dad shout like that. Ever.

Somnus disappeared. Regis hurried to Noctis’ side. Noctis looked up at his dad. “I’m sorry!”

For everything. For making a mess. For crying. For being hurt. For being too weak to do anything. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

Tears blinded him. Noctis didn’t want Dad to burn. He didn’t want Ignis to die. He didn’t want anyone else to hurt like those people.

Regis pulled him into a hug. “Hush. You have nothing to be sorry for. I should’ve protected you more. Somnus doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know how capable you are. How strong.”

Noctis remembered Crepera’s words. _Believe in yourself, even when you think you’re not worthy._ The memory calmed him. So what if the Founder King didn’t believe in him? Maybe Noctis didn’t need him to. Maybe he could fight… or, maybe he’d learn how to.

A faint memory itched in his brain. Of a dreamworld he’d run through, trying to find a way out and fighting a daemon because… because…

Because he’d touched death.

“Come,” Regis said, lifting Noctis. “Back to bed.”

Noctis clung to his father, the memories of fire and death too close for comfort. He didn’t want to close his eyes, not when he still saw the flames. He wanted to be strong, but it was too hard. “Can I stay with you?”

Regis held him close. “Of course. No more nightmares, and no more visits from our ancestors. Not for you.” Not for a great many years.

“All those people,” Noctis said. “Why were they on fire?”

“It was just a nightmare,” Regis said. “Pay it no heed.”

Noctis shook his head. It hadn’t been a dream. Once, it had been real. That was what the Founder King fought. That was what he’d stopped; daemons. Had… had the people been…?

Were daemons people?

“What if Insomnia burns like that?” Noctis whispered. He held tighter to his father’s clothes. He couldn’t stop the tears now. “I don’t want you to burn! Or Ignis. Or anyone!”

Regis’ hand rubbed Noctis’ back, taking care to avoid the scar. “No one will burn. Whatever Somnus showed you, it is of the distant past,” he said. “Think no more of it.” He stood, lifting Noctis with him. “Think of things that make you happy.”

Things that would make him happy? “I don’t want to burn. I don’t want anyone else to burn!” Because he didn’t need someone else’s past. He could see it now. The fires from the trashed cars. The screams of the guards dying around him. Hot blood washing out from beneath him. He couldn’t move. His legs wouldn’t move! He was so dizzy. So tired. His heart slammed against his ribs. His head screamed at him to get up, go, run, but nothing worked. Nothing moved. And no one came. Dead, dead, dead. All dead. And soon, he’d be dead too. It was coming for him. The monster. A daemon. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t get any air in. Couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t –

“Come back to me, little one. Come back. You’re alright. I’m here. You’re safe. You need to breathe. Noct? Breathe with me.”

A gasp exploded out of him. He wasn’t back there. He was safe, with Dad, in the throne room. He slumped, exhausted, in Dad’s arms.

“Breathe, Noct.”

He pulled in a noisy breath, but it came out wrong. It came out in a sob. And then another. And then he was wailing because people were on fire and –

Dad started singing. The sound of his voice startled Noctis out of his panicked thoughts. The sound of his deep, melodious voice washed through Noctis, taking the bitter tang of panic away from him.

Safe. Dad would keep him same.

No more fire.

No more death.

Safe.

Noctis relaxed. Soon, he was asleep. Regis carried his sleeping son to his room, tucking him in carefully.

Noctis stirred, frowning. He moaned, reaching out.

Regis caught his hand. “I’ve got you,” he said. “Hush now. You’re safe.”

Noctis stilled, sinking back into restful sleep.

With his son resting, Regis placed his hand over the Ring. “You’re all to leave him be,” he told their ancestors. “He has endured enough.” He suspected the first of their line heard him perfectly well. After all, none of the others had hurt Noctis. Some of them had told him of things Regis would’ve preferred his eight-year-old not know of (Regis could only pray the boy would forget every lyric to every damn bawdy ballad The Tall had taught him), but only Somnus had been cruel. “You have your Chosen. He will do what is needed. But he lives, and I’ll not have the dead torment him.”

Somnus’ voice echoed in Regis’ mind. _Your boy is a weakling. If he is to save our people and our kingdom, you’d best teach him how to fight. Bahamut showed you the price of his failure. His foes will not take pity on him as you do._

Regis’ temper flared. “I do not pity my son.”

_Then perhaps its time you stopped treating him like he might break, and allow him to start preparing for his fate. Lest he fail and all falls with him._

With that, Somnus’ presence faded. Regis glanced down at Noctis, saw his son as he was, and his son as he might be should he succumb to the same darkness slowly swallowing their star.

Regis wrenched his thoughts away from the dark vision. He’d clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He forced a long breath out, tension slowly ebbing from him. He laid down at Noctis’ side, watching him breathe. Regis’ heart ached. He knew what had to be done. He knew Noctis needed to begin training. If not for the attack, it would’ve begun already.

Time already seemed to be running away from him. From them. Regis reached out, placing his hand over Noctis’.

“You won’t fail. You’ll be ready. I swear.”

If Noctis’ fate was to be a sacrifice for all, then Regis would ensure his only child would have the strength to endure.

Somnus was wrong about him. Noctis wasn’t weak.

He would be the best of them all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Somnus is a tricky one to write. I'm kinda torn on how to interpret him. I feel like when he clashes with Ardyn in Insomnia, he's full of regret... and yet I also feel that regret would make him angry that it's poor, sweet Noct who has to fix those mistakes. Hmmmmm... HMMMMMM... 
> 
> See you next week! Until then, I have some [fics posted to Tumblr](https://breakfastteatime.tumblr.com/tagged/Breakfast-Tea-Tumblr-Fic-EXCLUSIVE) you can read (some of which aren't posted here!) Also, feel free to Ask a question from [this meme!](https://breakfastteatime.tumblr.com/post/184276083003/therepublicofletters-writing-ask-meme-is-there) <3


End file.
